the hocking-up-a-fish thing does not work both ways
by Windswift
Summary: Sick!fic. Sometimes dragons are the actual worst.


Disclaimer: I don't own _How To Train Your Dragon_

I had this thought, and then I could not unthink it, so then of course I felt the need to inflict it on everyone. You are all of course welcome.

what are titles _what is dignity_

_**the hocking-up-a-fish thing does not work both ways**_

Berk is an island of many traditions, and the morning flight is one of them. It's a little unusual, as far as traditions go, given that most of Berk's customs are old and time-honored and have been clenched in the fists of generations of Vikings. But by Stoick's reckoning, when you've lost every last shingle on your roof—twice, probably—to a persistent Night Fury, you can go on and stretch the definition a wee bit.

In any case, these days it's not unusual for the residents of Berk to look up about dawn to see a dark shadow swooping and diving and barrel-rolling across the choppy sea and brightening sky. Hiccup and Toothless strap up first thing in the morning, every morning, sleet or shine, summer or winter.

And now—as Hiccup presses Toothless to land in a clearing not halfway across the island from the village, fumbling for the catch to release his prosthetic from the stirrup and stumbling from the saddle—they can probably add to that list that they go flying whether Hiccup is hale and healthy... or on his hands and knees and emptying his stomach on the ground.

"Oh gods," Hiccup groans, when he's finished coughing, "that's disgusting." He pushes his hair back from his clammy face with one palm, then scoots away and closes his eyes while he breathes deeply and slowly, trying to settle his stomach enough to climb back on Toothless and fly home to the village. Usually he revels in the weightless feeling of flight, and the stomach-flipping acrobatics he and Toothless are getting better at every day, but right now the thought of that—

Nope, actually, no, he's not thinking about that, definitely not thinking about anything other than pressing his head into his arms and trying to steady his breathing.

He knocked the saddle askew in his haste to get clear of Toothless, and he can hear the dragon shaking and twisting his shoulders to get the harness shrugged back into place, the metal bits jangling and Toothless snorting. An outstretched wing butts against the top of his head as Toothless works.

"Sorry, bud," Hiccup mumbles into his lap. "I'll get Astrid to fly you, I promise. Hey, you probably won't even have to wake her up."

He lifts his head enough to shoot Toothless a pale grin and give the harness a final shove to settle it properly, but the Night Fury isn't watching him. Hiccup can see his nostrils twitch, and the dragon's ears press flat against his head for a few moments before lifting again, his narrowed eyes widening as he sits up. Behind them his tailfins are skittering across the dirt, his tail flicking with what's most likely the pre-pounce butt-wiggle.

"Toothless?" Hiccup says. "Hey, bud, what do you see?"

The dragon's gaze slides back to Hiccup, then focuses on whatever he's so intent on again, and he looks between the two of them again, stretching his neck forward, before Hiccup figures out that what Toothless is sniffing curiously at is—

"Wait. Oh gods, are you— _No_." He flings an arm across Toothless, his fingers catching and curling under the dragon's upper lip as he drags Toothless' head into his lap and away from his mess. "No, Toothless, that is not for you. Trust me, there is _nothing_ in there that I want you putting in your mouth."

Toothless rolls his eyes up at Hiccup, the grumbling picture of miffed and disgruntled Night Fury, and that's just fine because it's a vast improvement on him eying Hiccup's sick like he thinks Hiccup's sharing his breakfast between the both of them.

And then Toothless snorts up at Hiccup's face, and he scrunches his nose as the ends of his hair flutter with the usual stomach-turning, fishy and plasma-y smell of stale dragon breath... and then Hiccup's turning his head away to gag again.

He lets go of Toothless' head so he can nudge him away with one knee, in spite of the warbled protests.

"Okay," says Hiccup after a minute. He grimaces. "Okay, I don't... think I have anything left." That's not really the same thing as saying his stomach's settled, not even close, but he'd _really_ like to be home now and he'd really like to have Toothless _not here_ as well.

He pushes himself to his feet, shaking a bit, and then suddenly he's got an armful of warm, smooth dragon scales bearing him up and crooning at him. Hiccup strokes his fingertips along the ridge that rises on Toothless' forehead, and smiles again despite how miserable he already feels as he slides his foot in the stirrup and heaves himself onto the dragon's back.

"I'll be fine, bud. Don't worry," Hiccup says, patting Toothless' neck until the Night Fury stops twisting around to look at him and spreads his wings instead. "Tomorrow we'll go flying properly."

They don't, actually, because Toothless doesn't wake him up with a lot of thumping across the roof, and Hiccup's still working on the whole keeping-things-down bit, and anyway Stoick's spread the word throughout the village that his son's to be put back to bed if anyone spots Hiccup out and about. But it wouldn't be a good tradition if it couldn't stand some bending now and again.


End file.
